Assistant of Insanity
by permanentsmile
Summary: Sequel to my story, "Destiny of Insanity" (please read that before reading this). Same story, only through the eyes of the Joker. More tales from what happened behind the walls of Arkham when Elaine wasn't there. Warning: Violence, sexual content, and swearing.
1. Ha-Hacienda

***If you haven't read my story, "Destiny of Insanity" yet, I highly recommend doing that so this story will make more sense (hopefully). Thanks for reading!**

Life could be so... _funny_ sometimes. Who would have thought that the Batman would have actually caught me and let me live? Not even _I_ could see that one coming, and I was pretty damn good at guessing the next player's card.

Of course, there was the boring old routine of being scooped up by the police (which was quite uncomfortable when I was hanging from that rope - really, Batman? You're just going to _walk_ _away_ after all we've been through? Perhaps it was bashing him repeatedly while my new pooches tried to munch on him was what threw him off...), them being so gentle with me (ha... ha ha), and hauling me off to my brand new Ha-Hacienda: _Home of the Criminally Insane_!

"...careful now, I'm more delicate than I look," I said in my amused tone that they grew to expect.

 _Give the people what they want... a_ _ **show**_ _._

"Quiet, Clown," said the fat cop who had one of my arms in a vice.

"You know, you two didn't read me my rights. Isn't that against the law?" I taunted, moving along without fighting them.

 _No, no, no, no... This could be fun. I don't think I've been in one of these places before._

"Those are for the _people_ ," said the other idiot with a badge. "You're hardly a people, you freak."

I heard one of their little toys squawking, giving reports. I remembered hearing a quiet, " _Congratulations on grabbing the clown_!" from one of the fools. Oh, how those two buffoons dragging me into my new place reacted when they were praised for their supposed "bravery" of finally getting little old me.

"Aw... Stop. You're making me feel all gooey in my funny place," I replied, almost inhaling their discomfort.

It was **amusing**.

The bright lights burned my eyes as we entered the building, which reeked of disinfectant and drugged up lunatics. We were oh-so-humbly greeted by a security guard who looked like one of the biggest goons I'd ever seen in my life.

 _I could easily flip these cops and stab them with the blade in my shoe. I could take one of their little guns and just take out everyone here right now. But... this could be fun. Let's give this some time to see what happens. I could use a break - it_ _ **has**_ _been awfully tiring these past few months. I'm sure the Batman will be taking a break as well._

"Good job, Roberts, James," the guard said in a voice that made me want to gut him.

The dolts in blue tipped their hats to the guard and both left, probably to go eat a dozen donuts each and prepare for the pissing contest they were going to have with the other easily-corruptible cops. What those two bumbling jackasses didn't realize was that I had control in that police station - there were people out there they didn't know about that were still being paid for them to do whatever I wanted, _whenever_ I wanted.

Those mob fools thought I burned all the money - of course not! Why do something to an object that could get me a little farther ahead because of how _greedy_ everyone in Gotham was? They really were simple-minded... All they cared about was money. _Why_?

"Come on, freak," the guard said as he grabbed my arm roughly and led me down the hallway.

"Aren't cha going to introduce yourself? Hmmm?" I asked as I felt a dozen or more eyes on me.

 _What'll it be first? Another cavity search?_

"Officer Bolton," he said gruffly, leading me into a mid-sized room with another officer, a nurse, a shower, an examining table, and some orange clothes that seemed to call my name... First thing they did was strip my clothes off and hosed me down of my makeup, and tried to get the green out of my hair. As soon as I felt the nurse put her hands in my hair I turned around and reached for her throat automatically. The guards pulled out their guns and aimed them at my head.

"We have shoot-to-kill permission!" the other idiot, whose name I hadn't caught yet, said in a shaky voice.

 _Fear... My favorite scent!_

I stared at them in disgust before going back to my limp-noodle position in the shower, bearing all for them to view (maybe enjoy? The one looked like he wouldn't mind having something rammed into his ass). Soon after I was instructed to quickly dry off and stand against the wall, my back to them. Then I experienced the... _unpleasant_ ... feeling of a cavity search, which they seemed to take their time with.

 _Do they think they can humiliate me? Do they think this is belittling me?_

"Ya know... normally there's a dinner involved first," I said after feeling like the guard's hand was in my ass for a little _too_ long.

"Silence," the one called Bolton said.

 _Wait until the day comes when I silence_ _ **you**_ _, gorilla._

The search was over, and they tossed some clothes at me. They told me to dress quickly while they waved their shiny handcuffs at me. I stared down at the uniform briefly - _Patient 4479_. Hm... I liked that.

After dressing and going through the mundane being shackled, threatened, and handled roughly routine, I was handcuffed to the table when a different nurse (I suppose the last one lost her spine in the shower drain) came in to examine me.

"I think the short one over there already did a thorough inspection," I said as I pointed at the toad who might have smelled the glove he used in my ass.

 _Maybe he'll use that to get himself off tonight - who knows. I don't suppose ol' Bolton there would be alright with pounding that flubbery ass._

The unnamed guard growled, glowing bright red.

"I followed protocol. You need to be assessed by a nurse before we take you to your cell."

"You guys are so accommodating here! How much will this cost me? Hm?" I asked, noticing them staring intently at my face.

Ah... the makeup. One tends to forget with the ordering and the ass-fisting.

"Silence," Bolton growled, continuing to stare at my face.

The nurse proceeded to stare closer at the scars on my face, which annoyed me endlessly.

 _I could take that stethoscope around her neck and choke her. With that pencil neck, it wouldn't take much to crush her windpipe._

"Say, isn't a doctor supposed to be doing this?" I asked as I tried to shift in my spot, failing due to the tight little leash they put on me.

"They're all busy right now, and this is an emergency situation. I'm almost at my PhD anyway," she said too proudly as she listened to my heart beat.

"How sweet," I mocked, smiling at her, which made her turn away from my face.

"How'd you get the scars?" she asked as she lifted up my shirt to inspect for whatever the hell she was looking for.

"Well, Sherlock... May I call you Sherlock?"

"No," she responded with an eye roll, lifting my arm and feeling along my joint.

"Anyway, that's a story for a different day," I continued. "So... What's your little _plan_ here? Are you going to take care of me, nurse?" I asked as I licked my lips, knowing she was extremely uncomfortable.

 _Let's see... Nurse? Nah. Too predictable._

"You will be assigned a psychiatrist, who is being determined by Dr. Arkham right now. You will be given instructions by these officers on your days here at Arkham."

"A psychiatrist, eh? And _what_ do I need, uh, therapy for?"

She stared at me dully, as if I just said something ridiculous. Ha.

"Alright, he's clear to take to his cell. I'll write up a report for his therapist tomorrow. I should be getting a call from Dr. Arkham soon."

"Thanks, Harriet," the toad said as they unleashed my shackles and presented me with a straitjacked.

"You've got to be kidding me," I said as my face fell.

"Cooperate or there will be consequences, Clown," said Bolton as he pushed my arms through the...bizarre device.

"Everything in life has consequence," I said as I grunted, feeling my arms burn as they were tugged into a strange "hugging" position.

"Good observation. Will you make me a balloon animal next?" the toad asked.

"I would, but I'm a little tied up right now, Toad," I said, grinning in amusement as he looked flustered.

"You will address me as Officer Jones," he said in annoyance.

"Okay, _Officer_ Jones," my voice lowered as my gaze remained on him, making him look away.

"Alright. Move it, freak," Bolton said as he gave me a _mild_ shove forward.

They escorted me out of the room and I felt more eyes on me again. I heard people whispering to each other, some comments on my scars - blah, blah, blah. They were so _boring_.

"I heard it's down to Young or Morgan now," a broad staff member whispered to someone.

"Who do you think will get him?"

"Has to be Young. She's more experienced with his type," I heard another broad respond.

 _Hmm... Young? Morgan? Who will end up on my list?_


	2. Who Is Elaine Morgan?

My cell was fairly small, and there were security weasels coming around every once in a while to do their little cell block check. Honestly, did they _really_ think I could smuggle anything in there without having _left_ my cell? Of course, I know about getting things through the sewer system, if you flush just right, maybe do the hokey-pokey, blah blah. I wasn't interested in getting my hands on a razor. No, no, no... I wanted my damn facepaint back.

I grew rather attached to it - sure, my face seemed rather intimidating without it with the scars, and the green still remaining in my hair since that incompetent rodent of a nurse couldn't clean me properly. Also... it's permanent! Quite like my smile. Ha... ha ha...

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of two pairs of foot steps. Another cell check? Can't a guy get some shut eye around here?

"Did you hear that Arkham made a decision about who's treating the clown?" That voice sounded like my new, dear friend, Lyle Bolton.

 _Oh?_

"Yeah, but I dunno who it is," said another goon with a thick Bronx accent.

"I do." Lyle chuckled. "You won't believe this... He picked _Morgan_!"

I turned on my side to face the privacy door to listen harder, feeling the urge to "accidentally" slip out of my straitjacket at the sound of this new person's name.

 _Is it really necessary to have me in all of his while I'm locked away? Do they **really** think this will hold me? I **want** to be here. They can open that door for me to walk out of, and I won't leave._

"The fuck, man? That little Indian bitch? She ain't got the experience."

 _Hmm... Morgan, eh?_

"Can you imagine how that's going to go?" Lyle asked as he cackled. "Yeah, I'll give her not falling under the Poison whore's toxic fumes, but that clown will crack her. Or make her shit herself and go crying back to Daddy. Too fuckin' young to be in here. This is a man's job."

"You said it, Lyle," said the unnamed goon. "Elaine ain't gonna know what hit her when she meets this nutcase."

 _Elaine Morgan... Young, fresh-faced... Perhaps quite pure? She could be fun._

"Shut the fuck up," the gorilla said in his booming voice. "People can hear shit, you know. A nd since when are you on first name basis with that little cunt?"

 _How ironic, Bolton... You have the biggest mouth of them all here!_

"We ain't! I'm jus' sayin'... She ain't gonna know what she walked into when she gets a load of that freak's face!"

The gorilla paused for a moment, apparently trying to process some humor out of the other moron's statement.

 _Gorilla... It just doesn't fit him. Too long. He might not understand me when I'm calling for him one of these days._

"Hey, you didn't congratulate me," Bolton said as they started to come closer to my cell.

"Wha?" said the dope with little brain function.

"I'm new head of security, shitbrick. Didn't you get the memo last night?"

"Oh... Oh! Right. Congrats, man! You'll do great keeping things in check."

 _Ah... We have a brown-noser!_

"I have many... _many_... plans to straighten these animals out..." Lyle said darkly.

 _Perhaps you'd like to let me out of my straitjacket and try to tame me..._

"What'da'ya mean by that?" his comrade and ass-sucker asked.

"You'll see after a while, Russell. You just follow my orders, and I'll make sure you get a pay-raise. How's that?"

"You've got it, boss." I could hear Russell snicker as they passed my cell.

I laid on my back, staring at the metal ceiling of my little home, feeling rather bored with the silence. I had no clue what time it was - perhaps time for all the patients to take their meds so they would be quiet and take a nice, long nap. Hell, I didn't even know who my neighbors were! How I cared...so little.

My mind went back to my makeup - how to substitute for it? Where to start?

 _Some of these freaks must be smuggling stuff. Perhaps I could "borrow" something of theirs..._

I was snapped out of my thoughts when a tall, thin man entered my cell. I stared at him, feeling annoyed. How rude the staff were - constantly interrupting my thoughts!

"Hello, uh... Patient 4479," he said awkwardly.

"Hello, uh... stuttering man," I mocked.

He cleared his throat, apparently taking my comment a little too personal.

 _It's not like I rubbed his scrotum with sandpaper._

"I'm Dr. Jeremiah Arkham. I'm just here to let you know that your therapist's name is Dr. Morgan. You will have an appointment with her this afternoon. She will begin her treatment plan for you after she evaluates you. Do you have any questions?"

I smirked, thinking of all the ways to get under his skin.

"Yes. Will I happen to be fed during my stay?"

He let out a huffy breath.

"Yes. It's nearly breakfast time now, and an orderly will bring you your meal. They will be accompanied by a security guard for their personal safety."

"I don't get to socialize with the other 'patients'?" I asked as I sat up in bed.

"The caffeteria is for the nonviolent crowd. Until you're started with treatments and show that your behavior is suitable, you will spend most of your time here. Mondays you will be allowed on the grounds to exercise, under strict supervision from the guards. Tuesdays you will have therapy sessions with Dr. Morgan. On Wednesdays, we usually serve prisoners pizza, with 4 toppings to suit their dietary wants/needs -"

"Pizza Day? I like that." My smile grew, which made him back up a bit.

He cleared his throat and adjusted his overly expensive tie.

"Thursdays you will be allowed to socialize with other inmates, if you are under good behavior. Fridays there will be an Attorney from the DA's Office visiting you to build your case."

"My case?" I stared at him, sitting cross-legged on my bed. "For what... _Doc_?"

"They are fighting to send you to Black Gate. That is why I have assigned Dr. Morgan to treat you - she will evaluate you, and her notes will be gone over by your own attorney, as well as someone from the DA's Office to work your case."

"Am I allowed to have my attorney present during these, uh... 'therapy' sessions? Do I still have the right to remain silent?" I licked my lips - odd, normally I wasn't really aware of myself doing it.

"...we'll see. Anyway, for now, it was nice meeting you, ah... Patient 4479."

"You too, ah... Doctor," I mocked as he closed my cell door and securing it, leaving me to lay back in bed, going back to my hundreds of thoughts that flew by per second. Such vile things.

After an orderly dropped off my food (which consisted of eggs, bacon, toast, and an apple), I was left to see Lyle Bolton standing outside my door. I smirked, knowing I was going to have some fun with him.

"How's it goin', gorilla?" I asked him while grabbing a handful of scrambled eggs and shoving them in my mouth.

He kept his back turned to me, and merely grunted through the speaker.

"Aren't you supposed to put the privacy door up? What do I need to do if I need the facilities while you're standing there, for the rest of the 'patients' to see me?"

"Deal with it," he grumbled.

"Ah, ta, ta... that's no way to speak to a patient!"

He was getting annoyed. This was going to be fun.

"You ever take much history, Lyle? " Silence. "Would you like to learn a little something about the Ottomans?"

"Not particularly."

I took a bite out of my apple, and chewed loudly, only to get his fist clenching in response.

 _Oh, this **will** be fun!_

"See, the Ottomans had this way of torturing people... men, specifically." I took another bite of my apple, knowing I'd have plenty of time to educate him on some important history for him to know. "See, they used to take these very large logs, and sharpen them to a fine point. Then, they would aim it at a man's taint -" I cut myself off and squinted my eyes, staring at Lyle's back, which seemed to become quite rigid.

"You do know what a taint is, don't you? Well, Ape -" I cut myself off, grinning.

 _Ape. Perfect!_

"- that's the area between your anus and your scrotum. You'll probably find it's quite sensitive."

"I'm aware of what it is, _clown_."

"Anyway, they would aim it at a man's taint, and they'd slowly slide his body down on it. It could take a week or so before he'd finally die!"

Lyle turned his head towards me.

"Silence, freak. We don't need the other prisoners losing their breakfast."

"I'm just trying to educate you on some history, Ape. I figured with your third grade education, you might like to expand your knowledge. Anyway, if there were any mercy killings - beheadings, a blade through the heart, _anything_ to get the agonizing pain to _stop_... that person would be impaled, too. Then after said impaled person was _finally_ dead... they would behead them, stick the head on a spear, and point it at the location! Oh, isn't history _exciting_?"

He growled at me and released the intercom button, and turned away from me again.

I frowned.

 _There went my entertainment..._

"So when do I get to meet this new Doc of mine?"

"At one. You'll be taken to the therapy center."

"So she won't be coming to see me?" I tore apart my toast, which was soggy from butter and apple juice. "By the way, could I get some salt? These eggs are a little bland."

"No," he said dully.

"Not so hospitable, I see..." I sighed.

"Your therapist will not be treating you in your cell. That's special circumstances only."

"But I am a special circumstance! I mean, just _look_ at me!" I grinned at him, making broad gestures with my arms to get him to turn around.

I scowled when he kept his back to me.

"So this therapist... what's she like?"

"Well, I suppose you'll just have to wait and find out for yourself, clown."

"You're not going to give me a little hint as to what she's like? You might be sticking me in a room with a lunatic!"

"Then you two would make the perfect match." He snickered.

 _I'm not a lunatic... No, I'm **not**._


	3. Post-Therapy Syndrome

_A/N: Sorry for the short update. I've been very busy lately, and feeling some writer's block with this story. Stay tuned for more insanity with Joker!_

* * *

 _I had to know more about her._

When she walked in, over half a foot shorter than me and so deliciously curvy, I knew she was going to be _mine_. That beautiful dark skin, her soft face that gave off such innocence... But deep down, I _knew_ she was like me. I could feel it.

 _ **Finally**_ _, someone to connect with in this dump!_

Granted, before I was tied down in the therapy room I did receive another brutal cavity search... since I definitely could have smuggled something from my cell, which I hadn't left since I arrived. They were _so_ paranoid! Have any of these people considered taking their own medicine? Seems they could do with it more than myself.

 _Russell_... That annoying pig. I'd have to do something about him since I was planning on staying for a while. The toad from my arrival the previous night already made it clear he wanted nothing to do with little old me.

 _It's not like I was going to kill him... just maybe shove a shard of glass through his stomach._

Elaine... oh, _my_ Lainey. How surprised she was when I guessed her name! Really, doesn't she know how mouthy these people were? I had to know who her boyfriend was... I knew she'd tell me eventually, and from there on I knew I could find out anything I wanted to about him. After all, I did have her name and occupation. Ha... haha...

Eventually they would have to allow me to use the phone. I had a... "friend" ... who could help me with Lainey and her little bunny. Out of all the expendable idiots I hired, he was the exception. After all, there's nothing like keeping a person with multiple personalities around who had a grand delusion they were a _spy_! He amused me endlessly.

* * *

I did make a promise to my Lainey that I intended to keep - I was _not_ going to be seen without my makeup again. When they had me out to exercise, I was granted permission to use a locker to keep my jumpsuit in; when the guards weren't looking, I managed to take a small can of black shoe polish off the wooden bench some of those lunatics used. I grinned on my way back to my cell, feeling... well, I wasn't really feeling anything, but having something for the eyes was one less thing for me to do.

Then came my search for white paint. During the day, when the guards escorted me from one place to the next, I didn't spot any constructions so I couldn't use any white paint that could have been opened. I managed to speak to a few inmates - I mean... patients... - and they said they didn't have white paint. Well, the ones who could speak told me that.

That's when I met Crane. Talk about _insane_! He had to use gas to scare his victims - all _I_ needed to do was look at them and they'd soil themselves, and _he_ was supposed to be the "professional." Isn't life funny?

Speaking to Crane was rather dull, because all he could do was try to pry information out of me to help weasel himself out sooner. I fed him tales because he told me he could give me what I wanted - _white powder_. He said I could mix it with some water and it'd be like grease paint. I told him about the time I kidnapped a man who looked similar to Bruce Wayne, about the time I met a man who looked like a giant crocodile and I pursued him into killing an annoying IRS collector, blah blah... Your guess is as good as mine if any of them were true!

He gave me a small bag of baby powder - well... it looked like baby powder, and with whatever these crazy doctors were feeding me every day, I did lose some sense of smell. Ah, who cares! When I mixed it with water, I could see some slight steam rising from it, which I ignored. If it blew up half the "hospital," who really cared anyway? Just ridding the world of some loonies!

Now for my favorite color of all... _red_. I asked some people on my floor if they had anything to give me (and some of them had the nerve to do a _trade_ with me right off the bat before I even asked), but no one had lipstick, grease paint - nothing. I checked on Crane's floor, and nobody had lipstick there, either. I was not about to change the color just because of a mild setback.

* * *

That Sunday arrived quickly, and I had just two days to get something for my mouth and scars. Russell, that annoying piece of shit, did another cavity search that some may even consider to be _violating_! My week there was spent listening to the annoying pig gloat about how he'd one day take the ape's job, how he manhandled me regularly, and about each female in the vicinity he'd like to fuck.

Once he removed the glove and redressed me (did they _really_ think handcuffs would stop me from doing something? Imbeciles), I had an idea - _blood_! How could I not think of something so obvious sooner? Then I was given a wonderful opportunity - there his beefy hands were near my throat, giving me the usual threats, when I quickly leaned my head forward and bit hard on his ring finger.

The sound of his scream echoing in the room were _hilarious_! I laughed as I slipped a hand that was cuffed behind my back out of its restraint, and used the finger in my mouth to smear his blood across my mouth. I was already wearing my white paint and the black polish, which they interrogated me endlessly about just an hour before poor little Russell lost his finger.

Then... I was _complete_. I stared at Russell, who clutched his hand to his chest with tears in his eyes as he used his little radio to order in more guards to come collect me, and oh boo hoo, someone help him! I stood there and just grinned at him, revealing my teeth to show _his_ blood glistening on them and on my lips. He shrieked and backed against the wall as he withdrew his gun.

"I have permission!" he exclaimed, pointing it at me. "I can kill you!"

"Go ahead," I said before laughing. "You got ahead, porkchop. Show me you have a _spine_ for me to snap."

I saw him visibly shake at my deepened voice, which made the entire situation even funnier. It wasn't even thirty seconds before a couple guards came in and got me, and used more force than necessary to take me from the room (which had nurses and a doctor coming in to help their dear old Russell).

"Call in Morgan. Patient 4479 has reacted violently!" one guard's annoying voice urged into his cell phone. "Dr. Arkham, I don't know how this happened. Russell has handled him very well up until this point..."

"You might want this," I said in passing to Russell, dropping his finger by his side, which made him turn over and throw up on a nurse, causing more laughter from me.

"Why did you do it, clown?" once guard asked as they rushed me down a hall toward what I remembered as the therapy room.

I didn't answer him. Why give _them_ the answers? I wanted to see my Lainey. I needed to show her I could keep up my end of the bargain - after all, I was a man of my word...


End file.
